Patient Confidentiality
by Wicked.Intentions
Summary: Nazi Zombies! Tank/Richtofen, slight Nikolai/Richtofen. Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.
1. A New Patient

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Patient Confidentiality._

**Chapter Title:**_ A New Patient._

**Complete Story Summary: **Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.

**Story Pairing(s): **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen. Slight Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content: **Blood lust.

**Notes: **Sorry for the long time with nothing for you guys to read. I just haven't been inspired recently! That, and I've been fully engaged in an MMO… Oh, and this isn't a one-shot. Surprise, surprise. Stay tuned.

* * *

Fingers of one hand drummed in an erratic beat on the top of the worn wooden table, creating faded prints in the thick coating of the dust and debris resting upon it. The other hand curled in a fist, propping up the shaven chin of a primly dressed man. His eyes stared down the other person in the room, who uneasily shifted in his chair. He let a small smirk show his amusement when the American winced at the long creak his action created.

"Nervous? Ja, me, too."

"Let's just get this over with, Doc… I'd rather the others didn't know I was here."

"Mmm," Richtofen hummed in false sympathy. "Do not vorry, Dempsey. Patient confidentiality."

Tank snorted, covering it up with a forced fit of coughing into one fist so he could turn his head and stare out a nearby window. He doubted Richtofen even knew what the phrase meant.

"Take your time."

"Where should I even start, Doc? I mean… how does all of this even w—"

"Again vith zhe vorry! Just start anyvhere. I can vork vith anyzhing."

"Well, I guess it started when I was a kid. Dad wasn't around—being a military man and all—and Mom was busy with other men…"

Richtofen made noises of agreement and disagreement, and sometimes he nodded or responded just to show the man that he was still listening. Within that room, he allowed Tank a moment to relax and pour out his heart. He played the part well, pretending to care about what troubled them. In truth, he had offered these services to the other men to lull them into a false sense of security. One day, after they've all bared their souls to him, he would have them strapped down and vulnerable to his knowledge of what really scared them—what they were most insecure about. He couldn't wait. He was almost unable to suppress a shudder of delight.

Tank turned his wandering gaze upon Richtofen once more and blurted out, "Ya know?"

Richtofen realized that he hadn't been listening to a heated part of Tank's confessions, and he cursed himself inwardly for taking himself away to his fantasy land of scalpels; syringes; operating tables; and pretty, bright white lab coats. He blankly stared for a moment, struggling to conjure up a reply. "Do you care to elaborate furzher on zhis subject?"

Tank nodded, easing himself into a more comfortable position. He rubbed a finger across his jaw in thought. "I don't know… It just seemed like nobody understood me. I was always a loner. Sure, the chicks dug me, but it wasn't the same as somebody actually _caring_." He bit the inside of his cheek, doubting Richtofen knew anything about human emotions other than sadistic glee and passion about blood and destruction. But once he had started speaking, he found himself unable to stop.

Richtofen listened intently. All this talk about women, sex, and his high school was immensely boring, but he was interested about Tank's obvious want for affection. It was clear in his face that he had never experienced that sort of thing—and Richtofen sure as hell didn't, either—and he was laid out like a gourmet buffet of human weakness. Richtofen gleefully laid his eyes upon a yearning heart and imagined stabbing a fork right through it like he would a fresh, delicious bratwurst. It gushed and squelched with his eager stabbing, creating a symphony of beautiful melodies to his ears.

Once the splashes of blood cleared from his vision, and Richtofen forced his excitement and pleasure down. He couldn't afford to expose himself before he was ready. He smoothed down his Nazi uniform in self-consciousness once he noticed that Tank was finished rambling and was expectantly awaiting his response. He took a moment to think.

"Vell… you are certainly an interesting patient," he began slowly, "und I can tell you zhat… ve vill definitely need to meet more in order to, how you say… get to zhe bottom of all of your problems." A quick glance at a nearby clock, that had stopped ticking years ago, confirmed that his hour was up.

Tank nodded in agreement, expecting nothing less. His spirits felt strangely lifted. He didn't realize how much he needed to talk about his past in order to surpass that haunted feeling of his. However, he was nowhere near done talking. He desperately wanted to undergo more "therapy." No matter how much the doctor eye-raped him with knives during their sessions. He could have sworn he could almost feel how much the doctor had wanted to draw blood and gore during parts of it. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise him.

They sat in silence for a bit, reflecting on what had been said and heard. Richtofen formulated his plan in his head, fitting pieces to the puzzle that was Tank Dempsey. Too many holes, still. He needed more time. While he did that, Tank thought about what he wanted to talk about during the next meeting, and he again wondered if Richtofen really knew what he was talking about and if he could help him.

He stood from his chair and offered his hand to the still seated Nazi. "Thanks for listening, Doc. I appreciate it. These months have really done a number on me. The loneliness gets to you, ya know?" He hesitated when admitting that, but he figured it wouldn't hurt anything to mention it.

Richtofen took his hand after a pause. A large grin swept across his face. "I know." He didn't.


	2. Picking Them Apart

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Patient Confidentiality._

**Chapter Title: **_Picking Them Apart._

**Complete Story Summary: **Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.

**Story Pairing(s): **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen. Slight Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content: **Slight descriptions of domestic abuse, animal abuse, and murder.

**Notes: **Here we explore a little bit into Nikolai and Takeo. More interaction between Richtofen and Tank will be in the next chapter.

* * *

"I knew ve'd meet like zhis eventually," Richtofen drawled, swiveling noisily on his non-wheeled chair. The legs of his wooden, rickety seat scraped upon the cracked cement floor, drawing a slight glare of annoyance from the other occupant of the room.

"Yeah, yeah…" Nikolai muttered, struggling to hang onto his last shred of dignity in the foreboding presence currently centered upon him.

When Richtofen beckoned him closer with a flourish of one hand, he shuffled closer, claiming the seat in front of the table that Tank had departed from not half an hour previously. Not that he would know. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one of the three soldiers that had broken underneath the promises of a caring ear. He felt awful, swallowing a particularly burning swig of alcohol from the bottle in his loose grasp. He grimaced and finally lifted his chin to meet the intently studious green-eyed gaze of the Nazi.

"I am here to listen to your troubles," Richtofen assured him with a small smirk. "Feel free to discuss anyzhing you need to talk about, und I vill see vhat I can do for you. Begin anyvhere."

At first, it seemed as if the Russian's story was concocted from the American's. It was a story of loneliness and parents that weren't the supporting, encouraging kind. An abusive, drunk of a father—a cowering, unhelpful mother. But what set him apart from Tank was that despite having several wives that loved and cherished him, he did not return the feelings or need for the feelings. He was just an abusive drunk. Hell, he was abusive when he _wasn't_ drunk. Alcohol was his drive, his motivation in life. What a sad, sad outlook, Richtofen reflected.

"That was when Nikolai met third wife. She was beautiful, the daughter of division commander. Nikolai caught her washing clothes with wrong soap. I chased her and beat her to death with my own hands." Nikolai thoughtfully tapped a finger against his jaw. "That was right after new rank in army. I killed the man next for promotion."

Richtofen pretended to show interest. He had heard it all before. Wife one, wife two, wife three—all the way up to wife number seven. He beat them, they beat him, he hid weapons in their soft, squishy, bleed-y flesh when he wasn't happy. He listened to each of their stories with more care, though. Wives that tried to steal from him, wives that deceived him, wives that tried to leave him, and even wives that truly seemed to love him. He found it difficult to pick apart the lies and the truth. In fact, Nikolai could have never been married, and he wouldn't know.

Nikolai was a bloodthirsty killer. He was almost too perfect for the team, as an unstoppable murdering psychopath. Well, as long as nobody took his alcohol away, that is. The doctor pondered what the effects of a week or so with no alcohol would have on a certain alcohol-drenched man. He decided to actually write that thought down in short-handed German.

His eyes sought the drowsy, unfocused ones of Nikolai's. He nodded his consent to the other man's question of if they could continue the discussion another time. He watched the Russian exit the room after a few seconds of regaining his balance.

It wouldn't be long until Takeo showed up, he was sure. He had them all right where he wanted them.

* * *

Just as Richtofen expected, Takeo wasn't far behind Nikolai, arriving an hour or so afterward. He eyed the Japanese man as he silently took a seat in front of him. He couldn't wait to hear this. What exactly would he speak about? Would he speak much at all?

As the most soft-spoken of them all, Takeo took care in gathering and organizing his thoughts before he blurted out his entire life story in front of a man that he hardly knew, unlike his teammates. He was guarded but complete in his facts. He never faltered or looked away in shame. He was a man of control.

A young boy born into a wealthy ancient Japanese family, he was destined to become a killer; he mercilessly rendered tails from the kittens he found wandering his family's property. He was quiet and intelligent, always excelling in all of his training and obligations. There were obvious differences between him and his American and Russian counterparts. He did not indulge in alcohol, and he did not show a need or want for companionship. In fact, he seemed to revel in silence and loneliness.

Richtofen had to admit that picking apart this puzzle would be difficult. He would need to force Takeo to admit his weaknesses outright. It appeared that he didn't harbor any. The Nazi knew better than that, though.

"My mother and father were demanding," Takeo quietly spoke. His eyes remained locked with Richtofen's during the entire session, hardly blinking. "They were never satisfied. I needed my independence, and I needed to start my work on the family business. I did not approve of the way Father was allowing it to slowly crumble. One calm day, when the cherry blossoms were fluttering to the ground, I unsheathed my katana on them. I swiftly had them buried in the family cemetery. Never again would I allow myself to be controlled in such a manner."

A smirk curled Richtofen's lips in a cruel way. His job was much too easy. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the Japanese soldier, scribbling furiously on his notepad. Perhaps with only a single session more with the soldiers, he would be able to start his work. He could not wait until tomorrow, when Tank was scheduled to return. He shook off a pleasurable tingle that wracked his body at the thoughts and fantasies consuming him. A burst of piercing, uncontrollable laughter escaped him, and he fell forward onto the tabletop, allowing himself to release his pent-up emotions vocally. For half an hour.


	3. Nikolai Interferes

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Patient Confidentiality._

**Chapter Title: **_Nikolai Interferes._

**Complete Story Summary: **Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.

**Story Pairing(s): **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen. Slight Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content: **Slight language, mentions of homosexuality.

**Notes:** I am anxious to get to the Tank/Richtofen bits, but I'm forcing myself to take it slowly. This isn't one of my one-shots, after all. In the meantime, enjoy some "playful" banter between Richtofen and Nikolai.

* * *

"Just how do you intend to fix me, Doc?" Tank taunted, crossing his arms defensively. He shifted his weight onto his other foot, impatient and demanding in his demeanor. "Hell, I didn't even know I needed to be fixed. I was just saving you the embarrassment of your offer being denied by everyone. You're not a doctor. You're a nut job with a superiority complex."

Well, this was interesting, Richtofen mused. What has gotten him so riled up? Just yesterday he was so eager to show up and chat for an hour. He stretched his arms above his head, popping a few stiff joints. "Dempsey, stop zhis nonsense und sit down."

"I thought you said 'patient confidentiality,'" Tank hissed, stalking forward to tower over the doctor's seated form. His eyes reflected pure hatred and shame.

"I did," he replied, puzzled. "Vhat is said in zhis room vill not leave zhis room."

"Bullshit! How the fuck did Nikolai know, then? And I'm pretty sure Takeo knew, too, but he wasn't sayin' nothin'!"

Richtofen leveled him with a stare. "I might not say anyzhing, but zhat does not mean zhe others von't. Perhaps zhey saw you leave after your session yesterday."

Tank opened and closed his mouth a few times, struggling to add a rebuttal to that obvious truth. He shook his head in frustration and dropped bonelessly into the patient designated seat. A sigh escaped him, and he threaded an agitated hand through his blond hair.

"You seem stressed."

"No shit. What gave you that idea?" Tank glared back tiredly. "They think I'm a fuckin' pansy now. 'Runnin' and cryin' to the doctor about my problems.'"

Richtofen rolled his eyes. "Vhat is zhe problem vith you all? Therapy is healthy und cleansing. Not necessarily always a shelter for zhe veak."

Tank let out another sigh. He propped his feet up on the table wordlessly. "Where should I continue from?"

Richtofen smiled thinly, satisfied at his willingness. "Let us continue vith your personal relationships. Vhat more can you tell me about zhe women or…" he bit his lip coyly, "…_men_ you have enjoyed company vith?"

Tank promptly exploded. "I am _not_ a homosexual!"

"Yell it louder. Let everyone hear it. Ve'll see how long zhat continues to be zhe truth." A knowing stare.

Tank's Adam's apple bobbed nervously in his throat. "I'm not homo," he whispered furiously. "I've only ever had sex with women."

"Vhy, Dempsey, you sound absolutely defensive. Zhere is no judging here." The doctor chuckled darkly. "Vhat do you have against homosexuals?"

"What kind of a question is that? It's just wrong! You of all people should agree." He gave the red armband upon Richtofen's left arm a pointed look.

Richtofen shrugged. "Ve are not talking about me, are ve? Zhis is all about you."

"I… I don't know. It's wrong. It's wrong," he repeated, sounding slightly doubtful.

"So, you have never _tried_ it?"

"Hell no!"

"You vant companionship so much, Dempsey. I can see it in your eyes. You hate zhe fact zhat you are cooped up vith three other men, vith no woman in sight. You are tense und have pent-up urges. As far as I can see, you are keeping yourself from overcoming your loneliness." Richtofen suppressed a yawn.

In all seriousness, he eyed the Marine in thought. "Vhy continue torturing yourself? Unless…" his eyes brightened, "…you _enjoy_ zhe torture."

"Shut the fuck up, psycho." Tank grimaced at the hungry looks Richtofen was giving him. "I'm not like that."

The Nazi realized that he had leaned forward in his excitement and slowly settled back into his chair. "Vell, you know exactly vhat to do, zhen. Or you could ignore my advice und continue to suffer."

"Men, Doc? _Men_." He was pained in even considering going after one of his ugly, unwashed teammates, Nikolai and Tak'.

Richtofen giggled sadistically. "I hope you have some sort of lubrication."

With a loathing look, Tank climbed to his feet. "I'm going to go now and try not to think about any of this. I guess… I'll be back for another talk. Maybe later. Maybe." With a final glance over his shoulder at the smirking man, he departed.

* * *

"Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai," Richtofen repeated in a condescending tone. "Ve vill get novhere vith zhis sort of talk."

"Nikolai does not care. Why should I sit here and listen to you?"

"You are a 'fucked up piece of vork,' zhat's vhy."

"Look who is talking!"

"Again," Richtofen stressed, thinking back to his conversation with Tank, "zhis is about you. Not myself."

"Nikolai does not need therapy. Nikolai is perfectly fine."

"Zhen vhy show up?"

"I 'vant' to spend time with favorite Nazi," Nikolai mocked, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Mmm," he hummed in response. "I zhink zhere might be a reason you are not choosing to disclose to me."

"Nikolai is bored. Nazi provides break in monotony."

"You und your third person…" Richtofen muttered, rubbing his temple. It was difficult communicating with the Russian menace.

Nikolai gave him a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I enjoy annoying you."

"You need more vodka," he deadpanned. "Do not panic. Vhat you are currently experiencing are symptoms of withdrawal. Zhe doctor prescribes more alcohol und some bloodshed."

"What was that talk of 'third person'?"

Richtofen cursed under his breath, his rage boiling over.

"Ahah… hah! Nazi is annoyed! Much success!"

"You are vasting my time."

"Time doing… what? Sitting around looking 'pretty'?"

"…You zhink I look pretty?"

"Shit… it is expression!" He laughed loudly, nonetheless.

Richtofen shook his head wildly. He was not contributing to this madness. "Let's just discuss more about you."

"Nazi wants to know everything about Nikolai, doesn't he?" Nikolai waggled his eyebrows obnoxiously.

They were… _flirting_? Richtofen wasn't participating if he could help it, but he picked up on this fact with a twitch of his eye. "Sure, sure. Let's just get zhis over vith. Yesterday, you mentioned rising quickly in zhe ranks of zhe Red Army_—_"

"Want drink?" Nikolai held out his precious bottle of vodka, cutting across what he was saying.

Richtofen froze, considering the scene that played out before him. Nikolai was willingly offering him a sip of his drive, his motivation? What sort of trickery was this? Hesitantly, Richtofen reached a gloved hand out towards the outstretched glass bottle.

As quick as one would expect an alcoholic not to be, Nikolai snatched the hand and tugged Richtofen forward, their faces only inches apart. "You did not think it would be that easy… right?" He held the hand with a bone-crushing grip that the doctor found he could not escape so easily. This close, he noted that the Nazi's eyes were a startling, sharp green. So much for "blond-haired, blue-eyed."

"Vhat do you intend to prove?" Richtofen grunted, turning his face away from Nikolai's, unable to stand the alcohol-doused, putrid breath that fanned over his senses.

"Nikolai has no idea. Just bored and drunk."

With one strong tug, Richtofen freed his captured hand and shot backwards in his chair to freedom. He glowered at the infuriating smile that adorned the Russian's face.

"Just leave, und don't come back until you are serious about zhis therapy!" Richtofen raised his voice, pointing at the doorway with a trembling hand. His eyes were alive with his anger, and his lips were pulled back in a snarl.

Once the Russian had left, but not without a parting wink, the Nazi collapsed back into his chair, groaning, slapping his hands over his face.

Outside the door, Nikolai's playful smile dropped, and he scowled at nothing. With a new determination, he strode away, abandoning his vodka in his pack.


	4. A Painful Rejection

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Patient Confidentiality._

**Chapter Title: **_A Painful Rejection._

**Complete Story Summary: **Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.

**Story Pairing(s): **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen. Slight Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content: **Mentions of homosexuality.

* * *

Richtofen found himself outside of his make-shift therapy room for the time being, as he had felt cramped in there. He strolled around the premises, his dusty black boots landing solidly on the stage of the theater with every step, as if he were trying to gain the attention of the undead that had yet to show their rotting, maggot-infested faces today.

His eyes were locked upon the holes in the ceiling, expecting the crawling zombies to rain down on him any second. So focused was he that he didn't realize he had been sneaked up on until a voice sounded directly next to his ear in a whisper.

"Hey, Doc," Tank greeted quietly, snapping him out of his daze.

"Dempsey," Richtofen answered back in a dry voice. "So… good to see you."

"I know, it's strange not having a table between us and me being scrutinized for an hour, huh?"

Richtofen eyed Tank, who was only inches away. "Do you vant me to scrutinize you?"

He arched a blond eyebrow. Ignoring that comment, he inquired, "What are you doing out here, staring at nothing?"

With narrowed eyes, the Nazi answered with, "Zhat is none of your business."

Tank shrugged helplessly. "Okay. But I would like to tell you that I appreciate the therapy you have been giving me. That's actually why I was lookin' for you," he admitted with an embarrassed laugh. He scratched the back of his head, looking away from the intense green stare that was burning holes into his skin.

"Oh? Vell, zhat is perfectly acceptable, Dempsey. It gives me zhe utmost pleasure helping my patients." A cruel smile appeared on his face despite his words.

"So… if you're not busy, I'd like to have another discussion sometime soon."

"You seem to be enjoying my company a bit more zhan expected," Richtofen gloated, noting the way Tank flushed at his words.

Tank scuffed the toe of his boot into the stage, smearing a few spots of blood as he did so. He refused to look back at the doctor's face because he already knew that it was sadistic in some way. He didn't enjoy the taunting, but he found himself really enjoying the moments where he could just relax and not be on his guard so often. It was in the sanctuary that was the "therapy room" that he could be himself and relive the old days before all of the fighting and major changes took place. Though, reminding himself that he had no wife or a girlfriend waiting for him saddened him from time to time—which, he wasn't sure he would want to wish on a woman, seeing as how he wouldn't be going back…

Richtofen was pleased with the progress he had made on Tank with the sessions, but he had yet to see Takeo and Nikolai back for more. He was worried that his plan would fall short—that he was losing the interest of his other patients. But with the way Nikolai had acted last time, he thought with a scowl, maybe it was best not to have him around again. He would not tolerate that kind of distraction, even if Nikolai's intentions were harmless in his own way.

'I want companionship,' Tank thought, his eyes finally returning to the green ones that observed him silently. 'But with everything that has happened in the past few years, I don't think it would be possible. Unless…' Richtofen's suggestions returned to him. He swallowed thickly. Would it even be possible to have a normal relationship anymore? For any of them, with what they have gone through? Certainly, the four of them were a tightly-knit group. There was no doubt about that. They had each other's backs… well, Nikolai, Takeo, and Tank did. With the Nazi, it was most difficult to tell, especially with him spouting cruel words that reflected how desperately he wanted them all to die so he could experiment on them.

"You seem very lost in thought," Richtofen stated, breaking the silence at last. "If you vould like to share your thoughts, let us find somevhere to talk." He motioned with one hand for Tank to follow when he had received a nod of consent.

"Now, zhen," the doctor began once they had found a quiet place. "Vhat is on your mind, Dempsey?" He perched on the armrest of a moth-eaten couch after retrieving his notepad from the depths of his uniform.

"Despite what I said earlier today," Tank mumbled, ashamed to say the words out loud, "I have been thinking about what you suggested."

With a knowing glance, he nodded for the American to continue. "Und…?"

"I want to have a relationship—one that I've never before experienced. And I want to be able to do that before I die. That day will come maybe in ten years, maybe twenty. Or it could happen tomorrow."

"So… vhich one vill it be? Nikolai, zhe dirty drunkard? Or perhaps Takeo?" Richtofen giggled with sadistic glee at the thought of either of them. He didn't know why he found the idea so amusing, but he did. He also knew that Tank was giving him a dirty look at the moment for laughing at him. "You know, I honestly don't zhink zhat either of zhem vould decline an offer like zhat. You are all so full of sexual tension—it's a vonder zhat any of you haven't raped zhe other yet."

Tank's eyebrows knitted together. He couldn't find the words that he wanted to say. He motioned helplessly with his hands for a few seconds before restraining himself.

"Ja, Dempsey? Vhat is it? I can see your statement on zhe tip of your tongue."

Tank locked eyes with Richtofen, and he was dead serious. "Look, I really, really appreciate what you have been doing for me."

"I know. Und?"

"I can't help but think that all that advice, all that attention, you gave me could be for a much bigger plan…"

Richtofen froze, a cold pain creeping down his spine. His eyes widened, and he gaped openly, unable to stop himself. His gloved hands clenched until he felt his skin break, and his toes curled in fury. 'How could he possibly know?!'

Tank took his reaction as a sign that he was right. So with renewed confidence, he blurted out, "I don't want Nikolai or Takeo. I want you."

Deeply and utterly confused, Richtofen stuttered a few times, the tension draining from his body. Dumbly, he stared. He didn't seem to understand what had been said to him, so Tank decided continue.

"Doc, I figured that since you gave me the advice to see men in the first place, you were really telling me that you were interested in me. I thought a lot about it in the few hours after I had left, and I went through a mental struggle, of sorts. And I realized that though you may be a bloodthirsty, freaky motherfucker, you have been looking out for us the entire time. I'm grateful. And… I don't know why I'm telling you all of this." Tank's cheeks burned, ashamed of admitting such things about himself. He was dismayed to discover that the Nazi's expression had become very neutral. He had no idea how completely wrong he was about Richtofen's intentions.

"If I have to die here, I would like to at least be able to have a decent relationship. I-if," he suddenly stuttered, appearing very much like the troubled young man he was, "you're interested, that is…" He was very doubtful now, and he wished he could take it all back. His heart was again laid out for the doctor to pick over, and he felt very insecure.

Richtofen knew that he was expecting an answer, but he wasn't inclined to give one just yet. He had relaxed once the fact that Tank wasn't talking about his master plan presented itself to him. There was still hope. Once the words that had been poured out at him had finally settled and been analyzed, he was overcome with amusement. The whole idea of Tank wanting to… have a relationship with him was extremely funny. He opened his mouth, taking note of the expectant yet hesitant look on the American's face, and he laughed. Just laughed. He laughed harder than he had laughed in a long time.

Tank's face hardened in light of this embarrassing rejection. He stood there while Richtofen screeched with laughter, and his scowl grew and grew until he was severely pissed off.

His hands moved of their own accord, grasping the lapels of the Nazi's uniform, dragging him upwards. One hand formed a tight, deadly fist, and it reared backwards in preparation.

Richtofen's amusement subsided at this motion, and he watched in slow motion as the fist was thrown at him. It collided with a crack against his jaw, and he felt himself stumble backwards with the force behind it. He tripped backwards over a piece of useless machinery, landing heavily on his back. He felt his own blood trickle from his busted lower lip, and his ears picked up on the retreating footsteps of Tank. He frowned.


	5. Richtofen's Breakdown

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Patient Confidentiality._

**Chapter Title: **_Richtofen's Breakdown._

**Complete Story Summary: **Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.

**Story Pairing(s): **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen. Slight Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content:** Slight language and a little bit of angst.

* * *

"Ja, Dempsey's pissed," Richtofen mumbled to himself for the nth time when he was shoved past with a brutally placed elbow to the ribs. He gave the American's back a sour look while Nikolai guffawed in the background at the harsh treatment.

"Aw, lovers' spat?" the Russian taunted unknowingly.

Not taking the time to respond to this on-spot bait, Richtofen continued along the path of fallen foes and wrinkled his nose at the smell of decay permeating from every orifice of each and every undead body. It was a marvelous sight—the beauty of annihilation, indeed. Their faces were twisted in frozen expressions of anger and fear, blackened blood seeping from their bullet and knife wounds. He could have smiled if not for the hammer that nearly smashed his face in. He reared his head backwards with a gasp, throwing his hands up to catch the tool that had almost taken out one of his eyes. He lowered it to his side.

Tank was staring him down with pure loathing and slowly lowered the arm he had thrown the hammer with. "It's your turn to board up the place, Kraut." Somehow, the derogatory name seemed more so than it had ever been.

Again, Nikolai unhelpfully let out a low whistle at the turn of events. Takeo was nowhere to be seen, ever the uninterested one in the affairs of his teammates.

The doctor watched Tank turn on his heel and stride off the stage determinedly. He wordlessly began his task and located a supply of nails and boards lying beside a demolished window. Just as he raised one board up into place and was positioning the first nail, Nikolai appeared at his side, squinting at his face.

"Ja, Nikolai?" Richtofen sighed, expecting the worst.

"So was Nikolai right? Lovers' spat?"

"Nein," he denied through his gritted teeth, smashing the nail smoothly through the board with a few precise smacks of the hammer.

"You know," Nikolai lowered his voice and lost his playful demeanor, "Tank is not only one with reason to be upset with you."

Richtofen paused, turning his head and brushing his nose across Nikolai's lips due to his sudden closeness. He let out a snarl, jumping away, abandoning his half-finished board. It swung downwards, slamming against the pane. It sounded ten times louder in the silence that now had descended upon them. His thoughts raced and his eyes darted from one eye to the other, searching those intense orbs for answers to the somewhat cryptic statement. His hands trembled, and he felt a bead of sweat form at the nape of his neck.

"Nazi may be our only way out, but we don't have to treat you like princess." He seemed unfazed by the fact that he had flustered the doctor so much. "We know more than we let on."

"Vhat could you possibly know?!" Richtofen nearly screeched at him.

Nikolai resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Sadistic fuck," he merely insulted. He then shrugged. "Nikolai knows you don't like us. We don't like you, either. We demand more respect."

Richtofen narrowed his eyes threateningly. "I don't like zhe vay zhis is going. Don't forget your place, verdammte Schweinehund!" He squared his shoulders and returned to his work with a slight tremor in his actions. Nikolai stood there and watched him with a suspicious air the entire time.

* * *

It had taken him several hours to complete the repairs on all the windows in the theater. He let out a long sigh once the last nail had been driven into the board he was finishing up on. Nikolai had stopped following him more than an hour ago, dragging his vodka out of his pack and disappearing in a flash.

He dropped the hammer on the ground and sought an armchair to collapse in. He dragged a hand through his brown hair after removing his Nazi cover. In the last hours, he had been consumed in his thoughts, hammering on auto-pilot.

This hostility that everyone was now showing him did not bode well for his plan and those he might have in the future. Nikolai was hiding something from him. Could he possibly know about Richtofen's plans? Could Takeo? He wasn't sure about Tank knowing—the American was rather dense at times—but he knew that since he had turned him down in such a harsh way, he had gone out of his way to make things harder for the Nazi.

Those blue eyes, which once glanced at him hopefully and viewed him in a new light, were now cold, hard, and guarded.

Richtofen stubbornly refused to admit to himself that he cared what the American felt. Good, he was suffering. Good, he was humiliated. He should be kneeling at his feet, grateful to have even been able to spend those precious hours with the doctor. Grateful to have received his input.

He didn't care. He didn't need anyone.

A small voice in the back of his head berated him and insulted his judgment. It quickly grew in size and branched off into several different voices, all saying the same thing in different words. They screamed at him, whispered at him, spoke to him. They were angry, sadistic, unhappy, pitying, and sometimes emotionless. In an instant, he broke out into a splitting headache and grasped his skull in both hands, curling up into a ball in the armchair. He muttered to himself desperately, denying the things the voices told him.

'You are vorthless! Sadistic und cruel, never to be loved!'

'Vhy, oh, vhy can't you see…? Zhere is more to life zhan just yourself und your vork…'

'_Kill zhem… und kill yourself…_ _Vhat is zhe point in life vhen zhere is death to look forward to?_'

'Edvard… don't do zhis… please! _Please!_'

He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of noise in his mind that he could never escape. Those voices, all the same voice, displaying all different emotions at once. It was almost too much to handle. Like all other times, he couldn't help but notice that the voice inside his head was the one that left his throat when he spoke. The negativity burned deep behind his eyes, and he was helpless to its power. It was there when he closed his eyes at night. It would never leave him.

Richtofen didn't realize that he had been whispering, "Help," under his breath over and over again. He also didn't notice that tears had been leaking from the corners of his eyes until someone tapped him on the shoulder. He gasped, snapping his head up from its drooped position. It took him a few seconds to focus through the watery barrier and recognize the very person he wished would never see him in this state standing before him, appearing confused and disturbed.

"Doc," Tank mumbled, astonished to see the terrifying Nazi doctor crying. "What's wrong with you?"

Fearful that the voices that were slowly dying would come back, he shook his head, clearing his thoughts and wincing at the sharp pain that shot through him at the motion. He should be furious and yelling by now because Tank had invaded his private moment, but he couldn't muster an ounce of anger. Instead, he turned his head away so he couldn't be scrutinized so much. His head throbbed in agony.

"Hey," Tank said, keeping his tone low when he noticed that Richtofen, teeth gritted, was rubbing his temples with a pained expression on his face, "if it's serious… you can always talk about it."

Richtofen could have snorted at the role reversal that had taken place. When did the doctor become the patient? He didn't approve of that thought. He stubbornly kept his face tilted away. His eyes roamed the contents of the room, memorizing the useless details. He was desperate for anything to keep him from thinking about the calamity of voices in his head.

"Doc?"

"Dempsey, go avay…" Richtofen weakly demanded. He hated how weak he appeared to the American, and though he wouldn't say out loud, he was appreciative of his discretion. The others weren't running in here to laugh and jeer at him—the emotional freak—and for that, he was the one who was grateful.

"No. Not until you tell me why you were holed up here sobbing and begging for help."

Pinpricks of anger began to finally appear within him. "It's… none of your business," he hissed in defense. He wrapped his arms around himself, blinking away the wetness around his eyes.

"Listen," Tank suddenly growled lowly, glaring at the side of Richtofen's head, "I know you feel like you're above us and shit, but I'm tired of it. You are human, just like us. You cry, you bleed, and you fucking love, despite what you may have shown me earlier. You need to get over yourself and be a little more humble. I am offering my goddamn help, and all you can do is childishly push me away and refuse to look at me. I'm giving you some help whether you like it or not!"

Richtofen, shocked at the harshly spoken words, turned his head to meet Tank's eyes, and he was further surprised to find that they were only inches away from his own. When had he moved so close?

Tank pried the cold, bony hands that were glued to throbbing temples and replaced them with his own warm ones, slowly and gently rubbing away the pain. "Headache?" he murmured.

"J-_ja_," Richtofen gasped. His insides twisted in their cavities at the feel of hands on him. His eyes were wide and unguarded. His mouth had fallen open in a gape, unable to believe that Dempsey was touching him in such a way.

"Geez, Doc, don't look at me like that." Tank averted his eyes guiltily. "You look like I murdered your kitten or somethin'."

"Vhy…"

"—Why am I doing this? Well, you helped me," Tank interrupted abruptly. He set his mouth in a firm line. Then, he continued somberly, "I am repaying you. Again, whether you like it or not."

"I humiliated you. I broke you. You vere so angry!"

Tank rolled his eyes, sliding his soothing thumbs down the sides of Richtofen's face. "I got over it. I get it. You don't want a relationship with me. How about just mutual respect? Can we agree to disagree? Let's just be on the same side for once."

Richtofen, who had slowly been leaning into the tender presses into his face, pursed his lips and caught himself with a start. "I suppose." Stubborn as always.

"Good. Now, how are you feeling?"

"…Better," he admitted grudgingly.

Tank smiled at him, and the doctor felt a strange flutter in his chest. He promptly beat it down viciously with a metaphorical hammer.


	6. A Burst of Confidence

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Patient Confidentiality._

**Chapter Title:**_ A Burst of Confidence._

**Complete Story Summary: **Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.

**Story Pairing(s): **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen. Slight Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content: **Slight language and male/male contact.

**Notes:** Ah, finally we're getting somewhere with Tank and Richtofen.

* * *

Hiding from the others was proving to be easier than he expected. Waiting in the shadows with bated breath, Richtofen whole-heartedly believed that any second, all three of them would burst in on him, laughing and insulting him for his weakness. He thought Tank had told them all the details, skimping not on his tears and stutters. He hated the fear that shot through his heart that Tank's friendly, caring gestures the previous day had been nothing but a ploy to force him to drop his guard. But every second more that he waited in silence, he was coming to a startling realization: Tank didn't tell the others about his breakdown.

He bit his lower lip, allowing himself to relax for the first time in nearly six hours. His abused body was sore all over, and his stomach rumbled in a hollow ache. He had chosen an old set designing room that had stale buckets of paint, eerie splashes of red on the walls and floor, and a musty scent wafting in the air. He thought that the smell alone would keep them away.

He wondered at the quietness of the theater. What were the others doing? Why couldn't he hear their familiar barks of laughter, obnoxious Russian singing, or the sound of a blade being sharpened? With a low groan, he pushed himself up into a standing position, rather than the crouched one he had been in. His feet and calves burned from the strain. His joints creaked, and his uniform had deep creases set in various key spots from where he had been hunched over.

Cautiously, he moved towards the closed door in the dimness of the room, fumbling around for the doorknob. When he finally found it, he turned it and took a step outside. Nothing happened.

Relieved, he allowed his cool expression to return. He smoothed down his uniform and adjusted his cover. With a final pat-down, he deemed himself acceptable in appearance and made his way to the stage, where he was sure the team was gathered to amuse themselves.

Glancing from the balconies to the projector room to the stage itself, he was mistaken. But he could hear faint shuffling noises emitting from the dressing room next to the stage. Richtofen hoisted himself up onto the stage with a grunt and made his way towards the noises.

Tank, Nikolai, and Takeo were engaged in a rousing game of poker. It was dark except for an oil lamp they had moved to center of their game table. Boxes of dusty costumes served as make-shift chairs for the three men. Their wagers—ammunition and alcohol—sat around the lamp.

Richtofen stayed back to observe before announcing himself.

Nikolai slammed his cards down in front of him, grumbling, "Fold."

Tank and Takeo eyed each other calmly.

"Raise," Tank stated, tossing a few more rounds into the pile.

"Call," Takeo replied instantly, adding his own to the ever-growing pile.

Tank revealed his cards, a three of a kind, with a confident smirk. "C'mon, Tak', show us what you got."

Wordlessly, the Asian soldier set his cards down and flashed his flush at the amazed players.

"What the _fuck!_" Tank exclaimed, watching Takeo drag all of his loots towards him with a neutral expression.

"There is much honor in this game," the Imperial soldier simply said. It was his way of smiling in victory.

"Takeo is winning every hand," Nikolai moaned in self-pity. "I have lost much vodka tonight!"

"Stop bettin' your alcohol, then. You might as well throw in your weapon!" Tank laughed, snatching a sip of vodka from Takeo's new stash.

"Never, American!" he retaliated, hugging his assault rifle close to his chest.

Tank looked up from the deck he was shuffling in preparation for another game and spotted the Nazi in the shadows a couple feet away from them. He beckoned him closer with a tilt of his head as if he had been expecting him to show up.

Richtofen's feet moved without his consent, bringing him closer to the group and into the light so they could see just how haunted he appeared.

"Wow, you look like shit," Nikolai supplied rudely.

Takeo's eyes did a once-over of the Nazi's disheveled appearance and said nothing. He returned his critical gaze to the cards in Tank's grasp, ensuring that he didn't try to sneak any cards out.

"Wanna play?" Tank shot at the Nazi with a boisterous grin. He refrained from commenting on the man like Nikolai had.

Richtofen opened his mouth to decline when his stomach let out a particularly tormented rumble. He clutched it in annoyance. He found those icy blue eyes centered upon him once again.

He shook his head with a grimace. "I do not vish to play."

Tank dealt the new hand to his two teammates, leaning back in his chair. It was his turn to bet, but he chose to instead survey the way Richtofen grasped his abdomen. He sighed, throwing his cards down and shuffling them back into the deck. "I'll be back, guys."

Ignoring the protests from his Russian companion, he stood from his seat and grasped Richtofen by the arm. He knew that this gesture would cost him later when he noticed Nikolai's eyes widen. With a shake of his head, he led the reluctant man from the room. They crossed the stage and ascended the stairs that led to the room overlooking the alleyway. They chose to keep their stores of food in this room and left it closed off from the zombies.

"Dempsey, I don't need you to feed me," he grumbled in embarrassment.

"I can see how great of a job you do by yourself," he shot back.

A loud stomach gurgle accompanied his words, confirming them.

"I vas… busy."

"With?"

Richtofen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He nearly snapped, "None of your business!" but he knew that he was starting to sound redundant. Instead, he began searching through the box for something suitable to his appetite.

"With, Doc?"

"Shut up, Dempsey."

Tank forced his anger back from where it came. He had to be patient. "In case you didn't notice, I didn't tell them about what happened yesterday."

"…I am appreciative."

It was something. Tank accepted it with a wave of his hand. "Hey, we all get lonely."

Richtofen locked eyes with him. "Vhat makes you zhink I vas lonely?"

"Well, I just kind of assumed that's what the crying was about. You must be lonely, at least a little bit. We all are."

"I am not lonely."

"You say that, but I know it's just a cover. Everything about you is a cover. I don't know why you feel the need to be so secretive and cruel. Underneath, I bet there is a regular caring human being."

"I don't know vhat you're talking about. Und… you shouldn't be so presumptuous."

Tank hummed. "Keep it up, Doc. You're not fooling me anymore. What I saw last night couldn't have been the behavior of a psychotic murderer."

The doctor felt a flash of annoyance at the way Tank continued to bring up his breakdown. He finally chose his meal and opened it with a nearby knife. He settled himself back against a wall away from Dempsey, eating quietly.

Tank took it upon himself to take a seat right next to him. Their thighs were close enough to touch.

"…Zhere is more room elsevhere."

"I know. I'm sitting here for a reason."

"To disturb me?"

"No. I wanted to make sure you weren't still suffering from yesterday."

"I'm fine."

"I can see that," he replied, somewhat sarcastically. "Any more headaches?"

"No, Dempsey. I am fine."

"All right." He leaned back against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. They sat in silence for a few moments while Richtofen finished his meal. All the while, they were both consumed in thoughts—about each other.

Richtofen was focused on the way Tank's thigh was pressed up against his own. It was heavily distracting, even if he didn't intend for it to be. It was warm, compared to the frigid night air that surrounded them. He unintentionally took comfort in it, wanting to move closer.

"Cold?" Tank, ever the receptive one, picked up on a few light shivers coming from the doctor. He casually placed his arm around the man's shoulders, tugging him closer.

The Nazi was shocked at the one-armed embrace he was currently in. He couldn't even remember the last time he had experienced such a thing. He didn't know whether to pull away and scream his frustrations out or to continue this madness.

Tank's eyes popped open when he felt the Nazi turn towards him and wrap a tentative arm around his waist. He also turned his head to study the features of the man's tense face—his facial expression radiated a nervousness that wasn't common for him.

"Relax," he told him, bringing his other arm around Richtofen to sweep his fingertips comfortingly down his arm. Tank's heart was beating faster at this contact, and every part of him seemed to come alive. Every feather-light brush that they shared, every bit of eye contact, the slight flush on the doctor's cheeks—he took it all in. It was intoxicating. He surprised himself with the sudden urge to kiss those thin, trembling lips.

Richtofen was no longer cold. He was nervous. Tank was intently focused on him, and he seemed to be moving closer every few seconds.

The Marine took a deep breath and in a burst of confidence, he lowered his face close to Richtofen's. He didn't allow the other man more than a second of thought before he joined their lips in a kiss.

Richtofen's mind went blank. He found himself unable to move, unable to speak. All he could focus on was the way Tank's lips moved over his own. The way they pressed with an insistence that he wanted to respond to. The way they were slightly wetted with saliva and hungry for him.

The kiss turned passionate quickly. Tank was unable to control himself. It had been so long… With a groan, he pulled the Nazi down to the ground and climbed on top of him, never breaking their kiss. He murmured, "Richtofen," against those thin, pale lips, trailing a hand down his side and grasping his hip.

The doctor finally returned the kiss after several painful moments of evaluating the consequences of doing so. His body betrayed his mind, and he tangled his legs with Tank's, his tongue darting out to meet the one that prodded at his once closed lips.

The Marine felt his groin spring up at the moan that came from the Nazi, and he felt accomplished that he had gotten a response. He explored Richtofen's mouth eagerly, tasting the canned meat he had consumed minutes before.

They both broke the kiss for a much-needed gulp of air.

These were the precious moments that Richtofen realized that what he was doing was a mistake, and he pushed against Tank's chest with a grimace. "I don't vant zhis to happen…" He trailed off, unsure. He had enjoyed the way it felt being so close to the Marine, but he couldn't see any good coming of it.

Tank knew that it was a lot for the affection-deprived man, and he backed off obediently. He sat up on his knees above the panting, flustered doctor. He was hard and ready, but he didn't want to force himself upon him.

Richtofen laid his head back against the cool tile in relief. He licked his lips of the lingering saliva and avoided Tank's eyes. He needed time to himself.

Tank knew this, and he climbed to his feet, offering his hand. When Richtofen grasped it, he pulled him up and set it on his shoulder. "I'll see you around," he promised with a husky tone. He departed when he was given a jerky nod.

Richtofen groaned, burying his burning face in his hands. "Vhat zhe hell vas I zhinking…?" Obviously his body had reacted without his consent, and he was disappointed in his lack of control. How will he ever get anything done with this sort of distraction present? This was exactly the sort of thing he had been trying to avoid by rejecting Tank's offer. But now he wasn't sure at how solid his resolve was. It seemed pretty shaky, as shaky as his whole body was due to the pleasure he had been subjected to.

He _was_ weak. But not in the way the voices hissed at him.


	7. An Unpleasant Interruption

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Patient Confidentiality._

**Chapter Title:**_ An Unpleasant Interruption._

**Complete Story Summary: **Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.

**Story Pairing(s): **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen. Slight Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content: **Slight language and male/male contact.

**Notes:** I appreciate the reviews I have been receiving. Thanks so much!

* * *

Tank was in an excellent mood, if the large grin he was sporting was any indication.

Nikolai and Takeo gave each other bemused looks when the American had returned to them for the next round of poker. They were further curious when he appeared without the Nazi at his side.

"'Ey, what are you so damn happy about?" Nikolai rumbled, smacking a fist down on their game table.

Tank stopped in mid-step. "What's_ not_ to be happy about?"

The Russian shook his head in response. "Plenty more than there is to be happy about."

"C'mon, let's just play some goddamn poker!" Tank's happy ship was unsinkable.

They played late into the night, until the first morning rays of light crept through the cracks of the ceiling. Sometime during the night, between drowsiness and a healthy dose of alcohol, the three of them had passed out all over the floor beside their cards and ammunition. Empty glass bottles littered the ground around them.

Tank, whose lips were stuck to a half-empty bottle, cracked his eyes open after a few hours of drunken sleep. They were crusty and blurry, and the view gave him a slight headache. He let out an unhappy groan. His ship had a bad case of rats. However, once he noticed that Richtofen was seated nearby on his abandoned box, he perked right up. Shaking away unrelated thoughts about imaginary ships, he sat up and left the bottle where it lay.

Richtofen's piercing green gaze was focused on him in an instant.

A lazy smirk crossed Tank's face. "Hey, Doc. Nice seein' you here."

"Ja… indeed," he spoke slowly, slightly uncomfortable with how casually Tank was undressing him with eyes. Stiffly, he brushed invisible dust off his uniform to occupy himself.

"Watchin' me sleep or somethin'? I know I'm sexy and all, but…"

"Nein," he hissed, indignant. "I vas vaiting for you to avaken so ve could talk."

Tank glanced at his poker buddies, noticing them stirring at the noise. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he suggested, "Let's go find somewhere private."

Together, they moved several rooms away so they could let Nikolai and Takeo continue to sleep. Richtofen and Tank found themselves alone, merely inches apart. Silence surrounded them as they evaluated each other.

"What did you want to talk about?" Tank inquired.

"I vanted to discuss zhe events… of last night."

Tank nodded, scratching the side of his face nervously. "What about it?"

"I don't know vhat I vas doing. Clearly, I vas under zhe influence of somezhing ozher zhan my own rational zhought…"

"Come on, Doc. Don't do this to me. I thought we were getting along better." Tank's eyes pleaded with him.

Richtofen averted his eyes, frustrated. "It's all just one big distraction!"

"What's wrong with feeling good every once in a while?" Tank protested. He wanted to touch the agitated doctor, but he also didn't want risk upsetting him further.

Richtofen lacked a decent retort to that argument.

"We don't have to touch each other every second of the day—trust me, Nikolai and Tak' would have heart attacks. Or at least vomit uncontrollably. How about we just… you know…" Tank smiled rather attractively, his eyes gleaming mischievously, "…touch each other when we have free time?"

'Mein Gott,' Richtofen thought desperately, 'vhy does he affect me so?!' His eyes roamed the facial features of the Marine standing in front of him. 'Vhen did he become so pleasant to zhe sight…?'

"Come over here," Tank spoke quietly in Richtofen's ear, not wanting to startle him. He led him over to the ugly yellow couch pressed against the wall. He patted the cushions free of a majority of the dust and debris that littered it and took a seat. He nodded in approval when Richtofen joined him. Casually, he put his arm around the doctor's shoulders. "Not so bad, is it?"

Richtofen remained silent, looking everywhere but the man that tempted him. When had everything gone awry? Just a few days ago, he was plotting the demise of the worthless soldiers that accompanied him. He was going to have his fun, picking at their brains, witnessing them submitting to his tortures. The blood was going to run and stain his lab coat. He was going to feel like the Nazi doctor he had once been.

Tank sadly watched the torrent of emotions cross the doctor's face. Anger, sadistic pleasure, and finally self-loathing. He knew that progressing this relationship would take some major work. In fact, he didn't think Richtofen would ever really trust him or warm up to him. Hell, he was confident that he could get Takeo to be his dainty blushing woman faster than Richtofen—and the Japanese man was as cold as ice and twice as hardened.

He didn't know what to say to make Richtofen feel any better. So he just patiently sat back and gave him some space.

Maybe there was still hope. He could still have his fun. He just needed to rework some of the finer details. Richtofen pondered the possibilities. Finally, he sighed and turned to Tank, as tense as ever, "You said somezhing about 'feeling good'?"

"Yup."

"How?"

Tank chuckled lowly. He crossed one leg over the other and laid his head back so he could stare at the ceiling. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I vould. Now stop vith zhe secrey und show me."

"Are you sure you're ready?" Tank gave him a serious look.

"I don't know," Richtofen replied, equally serious, "but I vould like to try."

Ever since he had begun these interactions with Tank, the voices had been quiet, muttering incomprehensible nonsense that he was able to ignore easily. It was encouraging, and he found himself able to actually sleep more than a few hours a night. It was a relief to his battered mind. Colors seemed brighter, and the light not so dim. His thoughts weren't so jumbled and rapid-fire. He was able to sit back and take it all in. The experience of living like a normal person. How long had it been since he had been "normal"?

Tank radiated self-confidence and smugness. "Well, you've come to the right man."

Richtofen threw him a questioning look. "Ve'll see about zhat…"

"If last night was any indication," Tank reminded him, his smile becoming more dangerous, "you'll love what I else I can do to you."

Richtofen flushed. Irritated, he snapped, "If you refuse to be serious about zhis, I vill not participate!"

"I think I could change your mind pretty quickly."

"You arrogant American."

Richtofen let out a gasp when he found himself on his back on the couch, the still-smirking American hovering above him on his elbows and knees. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Richtofen's neck, right above his collar.

With a quick gauge of the doctor's reaction to this intimacy, he continued peppering his neck with kisses and nips.

The doctor was overwhelmed by the small signs of affection, and his eyes sought Tank's. They darted back and forth between the two blue eyes that were clear and bright with harmless intentions.

"I never told you how sexy your eyes are," Tank spoke up, leaning forward to stare intensely into them. "I used to think they were creepy as hell, staring into my soul or something. But now I think I like them."

Richtofen promptly rolled them and pushed Tank's face back into his neck.

With a rumbling laugh, he continued with his attentions. His hands, which had been motionless, grasped Richtofen's arms and threw them up above his head, pinning them in place.

The doctor gasped at the new position, amazed to feel vulnerable—and the pleasure that came with being so. He wriggled underneath Tank.

"Hey, easy," the Marine murmured. "Do you want me to go insane?" He shifted, pressing himself up against Richtofen to emphasize his point.

"Maybe," he said, breathless. He was panting lightly, and he felt himself becoming aroused. He could feel every inch of his teammate pressed against him, every rise and fall of his chest with the shaky inhalations and exhalations he produced. He could see the desire in those blue eyes and feel it in the way the warm lips brushed his Adam's apple. He bucked his hips to get Tank's attention, his eyes begging.

"What?" Tank teased. "Did you want something?"

"Ugh, American…" he would have rubbed his temples if his hands had been free. "Kiss me, or I vill have to punish you!"

"Mmm… Maybe later," Tank flirted. Once his intended reaction had been achieved, a frustrated glare, he leaned down and locked lips with the Nazi's. He was instantly assaulted with the man's frustration and pleasure, his lips being devoured.

"What the f—!"

Tank broke the kiss with a groan of disappointment, looking up to find Nikolai in the doorway, clutching his stomach, an expression of astonishment and disgust upon his face. "Do you mind, Nikolai?" Tank growled at him, wishing he'd disappear. But the damage had been done. With a forceful shove from the man underneath him, he landed heavily on the ground, dazed.

Richtofen flew to his feet and snatched his abandoned cover from where it had landed on the floor. With a withering glare that could melt major organ systems sent towards Nikolai, he stormed out of the room.

Tank watched him go with mounting despair. "Damn it."

Nikolai took a swig of vodka and smacked his lips obnoxiously. "Nikolai thinks he interrupted something…"

"You think?" Tank grumbled, climbing to his feet and pressing a few fingers into the sore spots of his body that had broken his fall.

"So… uh…" Nikolai appeared at a loss for words.

"I know, I'm totally attracted to Richtofen," Tank admitted, embarrassed to be found out in this manner.

"Eh…" The Russian shrugged. "I guess it had to be one of us."

Takeo wandered into the room with his katana unsheathed. He looked from the crestfallen expression on Tank's face to Nikolai's shocked features. "I seem to have missed something."

With a sigh, Tank explained that he had been caught with Richtofen, leaving out the intimate details, which Takeo neutrally listened to.

"I see. Well, seeing as how we are stuck here for—ever, it was bound to happen. The flesh will always ache for the companionship of another." With a nod, he retreated the way he came.

"Too bad he is not woman, right?" Nikolai smiled wryly. "Damn."

Tank groaned at the mental images. "We are all deprived fucks."


	8. Calm and Sound Minded

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Patient Confidentiality._

**Chapter Title:**_ Calm and Sound Minded._

**Complete Story Summary: **Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.

**Story Pairing(s): **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen. Slight Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content: **Language and heavy angst.

**Notes:** I believe I might wrap this story up soon.

_AnotherDoctor_, your reviews are so flattering. I adore them!

* * *

'Vorthless… vorthless! Zhey are all vorthless!' Richtofen screamed in his mind. He was livid. He felt manipulated and betrayed. How dare he put the doctor on show for the others to ogle at? Given enough time, he was sure Takeo would have been there to gape and judge. How _dare_ he?

He paced in front of the teleporter sitting upon the stage, listening to its gentle hum. He seethed and stomped, unable to control the fury that bubbled up hot red inside of him. He was so furious that he was unable to focus on anything. He stared past all the tangent objects around him, listening to the voices screech and hoot at him. Laughter and harsh words mixed together and drowned out even his own thoughts.

Thankfully, the others seemed to sense his aura of doom and avoided him as if he were the devil himself. For hours now, he had seen neither hide nor hair of any of his loathsome teammates. Especially Dempsey.

He was going to see to it that they all took the shortest route possible to hell. With a struggle, he pushed the voices aside so he could imagine all the possibilities. He clutched the MP40 in his grip harder. So many delicious options for him to explore. He could torture them all until they begged for death. He could even throw them to his minions as a treat for causing them so much stress and pain. But Dempsey… perhaps he would keep him and force him to transform into his own personal undead slave. It was a tempting thought, and he shuddered in pleasure. This idea rapidly morphed into fantasies of the last few days of contact with Tank, with their innocent encounters escalading into much more graphic touches. Richtofen nearly swooned but caught himself with a snarl. Damn him for getting under his skin like this!

He strode with determination to where he left his doctor tools. He needed to prepare.

* * *

"Damn… Richtofen's so pissed. I've never seen him so angry before." Tank hung his head in shame.

Nikolai grimaced in sympathy. "It was bound to happen. He hates us."

"What?" Tank looked up in surprise. "What was bound to happen?"

"Is it not obvious? He wants to kill us."

"Well," Tank bit his lip, "I kind of figured he did, but I had hoped…"

"You cannot hope to change someone like that," Takeo input, his face shadowed by his cover. He was curled up next to the Quick Revive soda machine, conserving as much body heat as he could manage against the chill that slithered through the air. "He is very evil."

"All we can do is hope he calms down," Nikolai agreed. "Until then, be on guard."

Tank groaned, slapping a hand over his face. This was not at all how he had expected things to end up—them cowering in fear at the thought of Richtofen's wrath.

"You could try to speak to him," Takeo continued, lifting his chin to lock eyes with Tank. "He at least appeared to tolerate you."

"What do I even say to the guy?"

"You don't say anything—you fuck him," Nikolai interrupted, laughing despite their situation. "He is so full of tension. He just needs sex."

Tank turned his face away. As tempting as it sounded… "No, I won't force him. He's not exactly experienced. Or stable."

"Well, we cannot just dishonor ourselves by hiding away like this. We must do something."

Tank nodded at Takeo. "I know. That's why I'm gonna do something."

"Good luck," Nikolai said, clapping a hand onto the American's shoulder. "Don't die."

With a half smile, Tank made his way to the stage to confront the stewing Nazi.

* * *

"Doc?" Tank called, unable to find the doctor anywhere in the auditorium. He searched the balconies, the projector room, the rooms adjoining the stage but to no avail. Helplessly, he stood in the center of the massive theater and crossed his arms. He'll just have to wait here for the man. He is bound to show up eventually.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. An arm snaked around his waist, and he was carted backwards toward the dressing room. He yelped, flailing his arms to regain his balance and footing. "What the hell—?" He twisted his head around to see the smoldering green eyes of the doctor staring into his own. He didn't look happy… at least, not in the way Tank wanted him to.

"Dempsey…" Richtofen hissed, "…you'll be first."

"First? First for what, Doc?" He stumbled behind the doctor when he was released, with his wrist snatched at in a death grip. He winced at the tightening of the fingers around his wrist. His attempts to reclaim his appendage failed, as Richtofen was beyond determined to keep it within his grasp.

Richtofen ruthlessly dug his fingers into Tank's skin the more he struggled, drawing blood after a few seconds. He reveled in the American's sharp intake of air at the pain he was experiencing. When they reached their destination, a damp and grimy observation room outside the theater and down some stairs—which Tank nearly fell down due to the Nazi's pace—he threw the American under the dimly-lit, low hanging lamp. The Marine collapsed into a patient's chair.

As quick as a blink, Richtofen had fastened straps of leather into their buckles around both of his wrists and ankles, rendering him immobile.

Tank, now nearing pure terror, stared up at the doctor in a new light. "What… what are you going to do?!"

"I am going to teach you a fucking lesson," Richtofen snarled, drops of his saliva splattering onto Tank's face with the ferocity of his statement. He towered over him threateningly. His hands dug into the Marine's arms. "You vill all pay… und soon zhe voices vill be happy."

Tank couldn't relieve himself of the trembles that now wracked his body. Defiantly, though, he kept eye contact with the unstable man. "You're doing this because of some voices in your head? They're not real! This, however, is real! Once you do this, you'll never be able to take it back," he tried to reason.

Richtofen ignored him and stepped around the chair to fumble with something Tank was unable to see. After a moment, he wheeled a stainless steel table with bloody medical tools neatly arranged on its top next to Tank. He smiled venomously at the way Tank's eyes widened at the impressive array of scalpels, syringes, and various other deadly-looking instruments.

"Doc…" Tank flicked his eyes back to Richtofen's. "You can't do this to me…"

"Oh? Und vhy can I not? So you can run to your friends und tell zhem everyzhing about me? To humiliate me in front of zhem? To take advantage of my emotions? To 'throw stones'?" he yelled in the American's face.

"Richtofen, I never said anything! Not a damn thing! Do you think I wanted Nikolai to walk in on us? Hell no. I wanted to continue." Tank swallowed thickly. "I liked where things were going."

"Oh, ja, just anozher casual fling," Richtofen quipped sarcastically. "Zhat vas your plan all along, vasn't it? You vere going to use me und zhen betray me. Only your plan backfired on you a little sooner zhan expected!"

"You're one to talk about 'plans,'" Tank suddenly snarled. "What was all that therapy shit for, anyway? Nikolai told me about his suspicions after his session. He said you were going to use that information for some sick and twisted purpose. I guess he was right. I had my doubts, but now it's very clear to me."

Richtofen eyed the angry blush that adorned Tank's cheeks, and he stared intently at the waver of emotions that filled his icy blue eyes.

"I thought you weren't a monster. I thought that you were just going through some rough times." Tank's eyes hardened. "I can see that I was fucking wrong. I won't be making that mistake again."

Richtofen scowled. "You assume zhat you vill get out of zhis alive."

"No, Richtofen, I know I will. I won't let myself be killed in such a cowardly way. I won't go down without a fight!" With that, he struggled anew against his restraints.

The Nazi took a step back to observe. "Dempsey, you are a fool."

"And you are a sadistic bastard. I'm glad we have established that," came the harsh retort.

With a disbelieving shake of his head, he muttered, "You are an enigma. You are clearly about to meet certain death, und you still are full of zhis defiance."

"I know not to roll over and die when there's still a chance." There was an angry glint in Tank's eyes. "Unlike you, submitting to some imaginary voices. Hell, what makes you think those voices aren't your own? Your own lack of self-confidence beating you down because you let it? You are the fool."

Richtofen snatched up a particularly gritty scalpel and held it up to Tank's neck threateningly. "You zhink I am making up zhese voices?"

"Of course… It's so obvious! You, the one who pretends to be ruler of the universe, actually can't stand yourself! I can see it in your eyes. You hate yourself. You hate what you do. But what you don't realize is that it isn't too late to gain control. Not _yet_." He gave a pointed glance at the scalpel poised at his neck.

Richtofen denied these accusations with a shake of his head. "Zhey are all lies. You do nozhing but lie." Inwardly, he felt himself break. "Zhe voices are real, und zhey vant blood to be spilled."

"Ugh, when will you get it through your thick goddamn skull?!" Tank was losing his patience quickly. He insisted, "Try thinking about yourself in a more positive way. Instead of hanging your head in defeat and allowing them to corrupt you, why don't you try fighting back—really fighting back and making what they say about you untrue? If you let them turn you into what they call you, you really are making them real!"

Richtofen's hand trembled, and he accidentally sliced into Tank's neck, creating a very shallow wound. Beads of blood appeared at the wound's entrance. He stared at them, horrified with himself. The rush of pleasure he had been expecting was swiftly replaced by a wave of nausea. His gaze darted up into the furious ones of Tank.

"Why aren't you laughing your ass off or screaming about blood yet?" Tank taunted. "What, could it possibly be that you are actually a human being?"

Richtofen dropped the scalpel on Tank's lap. He stumbled back a few steps, clutching his head. The voices assaulted his mind, telling him to kill Tank and reminding him of what a puppet he truly was. He dropped to his knees, gripped his head with both hands, curling into a ball.

Tank's voice pierced the storm raging within his mind. "Fight it, Doc. Don't let them win."

He listened to some of the things they were saying individually.

'You are a vaste of space—vhy are you even listening to an American? Vorthless, all of zhem! Pick up zhe scalpel und slice him into little pieces!'

He thought back to the beads of blood and was hit with a feeling of sickness once again that he had caused that. 'Nein! I refuse!'

'Edvard, you are ours… Listen to vhat ve say, und ve vill take good care of you…'

'I don't need you,' he shot back, 'I'm fully capable of taking care of myself.'

'Obviously not,' it scoffed, the honey-sweetened tone taking on a more unfriendly one. 'Just look at you. Kneeling at zhe feet of an American. Vho, I might add, is still breathing! Vhy?! Vhat is zhe meaning of zhis?'

'He tells me zhat you aren't real… Zhat you are all my creation. All those years of abuse… Zhose people who mocked me und rejected me… zhey helped. Zheir harsh words und cruel actions… I never knew a single bit of affection until Dempsey.'

'You don't need anyone. You vill never need anyone. You are a loner, und you vill stay zhat vay until you die.'

'It doesn't have to be zhat vay,' he resolved. 'Vho says I must suffer at zhe hands of zhose around me?'

Tank watched wordlessly as Richtofen went through his mental struggle with himself. He severely hoped that he would come out on top. He couldn't imagine how much easier things would be with a less unstable doctor around. Maybe they could finally focus on getting the hell out of this wasteland… He tested his restraints again while waiting for the man to lift himself out of his cowering position.

'I von't let you—you imaginary voices—take control of me any longer. I am not veak, und I am not destined for failure or loneliness. I vasn't born vith such a prophecy.'

'Vho vould you be vithout us?! Vhat vould you ever amount to?'

'Vhatever I vant,' Richtofen firmly stated in his thoughts, smashing down his tormentors effectively. With the disappearance of each and every voice, he saw flashes of those who had wronged him in the past. His peers, teasing him and fearing him, calling him cruel names and throwing rocks in the school grounds while the instructors pretended not to notice; his coworkers and fellow Nazis scoffing at him and insulting his work behind his back; his parents… his parents never taking notice of the bruises that adorned his small, battered body or the tears that streamed down his face as he begged to be transferred to another school. He felt those tears return to him now. Nobody had ever been there for him. No wonder these voices had come to him. It was his own tormented mindset that had created them. After so long of listening to talk of how worthless he was, he had actually begun to believe it.

But… silence now in his mind, he snapped his head up and gratefully gave a surprised Tank a watery smile. Now he had something else to believe.

Tank awkwardly pulled at his bindings pointedly. "Now, wanna let me the fuck out of here?"


	9. Patient and Doctor

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Patient Confidentiality._

**Chapter Title:**_ Patient and Doctor._

**Complete Story Summary: **Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.

**Story Pairing(s): **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen. Slight Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content: **Language and some violence.

* * *

Richtofen, never at so much peace, found himself at a loss as to what he would occupy himself with. Listlessly, he shuffled through a stack of German research papers. His eyes roamed the words, but too often they would stray to peer out the projection room glass-less window to the group that huddled together on the stage. Silence was deafening, he decided with a click of his tongue.

Nikolai, Takeo, and Tank had made a small fire on the stage against the chill of the winter air that surrounded them. With all the numerous holes and cracks in the walls and ceiling, created by both time and zombies, it was nearly impossible to escape the frigid temperatures. Lone snowflakes drifted through the openings and begun creating mounds of snow where they landed.

Bottle of vodka in hand, Nikolai commented on how pleasant the burn of alcohol was down his throat, effectively keeping his body temperature up. For once, he relinquished it to share it with his other slightly buzzed teammates. They laughed and joked—well, Takeo listened and nodded in approval. Laughter was beneath him.

Tank appeared happier than when he had been alone him, the doctor noted with a frown. His smile was a mile wide, and his boisterous laughter floated up to him. Perhaps he had forgotten all about what had occurred days ago in that patient observation room? He could always hope so.

The cold air snuck under his Nazi uniform, and he shivered. Longingly, he stared at the fire that called to him. He knew he wouldn't dare approach them—he wasn't quite sure how they would react to the new him just yet. So he tortured himself by staying far away and observing when he thought they didn't notice him. Ever since the winter had picked up, things seemed bleaker than when the voices were with him. He bit back a sigh of regret. What a sad existence.

He turned in his chair so he wouldn't have to look down at the two things he wouldn't mind having at the moment. It was too much for him. Instead, he decided to make his way to the front entrance hall. The doors were blown open, and he could see nothing but snow. The wintery blanket seemed to have hidden the undead hordes. Nothing moved, and there wasn't a sound to be heard. He turned his back on the depressing sight and folded his hands behind his back. He widened his stance and tilted his head back, closing his eyes exhaustively.

He was correct about the undead hordes being hindered for the time being, but he didn't count on a lone straggler braving the journey across the plains of icy slush. A crawling zombie dragged itself up the stairs silently, its crippled legs dangling behind it and oozing a nauseating combination of blackened blood and yellow-green pus. Its eyes narrowed at the breathing man who had his back foolishly turned to it. It could smell the delicious blood that pumped through his body, and it longed to feel the heartbeat speed up in terror before slowly dying down when death took him into its unforgiving embrace. It swiped at Richtofen's unguarded legs, connecting solidly.

Richtofen dropped to the floor in shock, feeling something grab onto him. He rolled over and spotted one of his minions descending upon him, its jaws gnashing terrifyingly. He let out a gasp of horror and struggled to free his knife from his belt so as to defend himself against its attacks.

It knocked the knife away with its flailing arms, letting out a shudder-inducing shriek when Richtofen resisted it. It instead changed target and sunk its teeth into the doctor's arm, biting down with all its might.

Richtofen screamed, for once not sounding like he was having an orgasm due to the pain, and he reared his elbow back and cracked the monster's skull with the force behind his attack. He felt his elbow throb in pain, and he grit his teeth when he felt the monster defiantly chew at his already wounded arm. Using his strong arm, he raised the Nazi zombie's head up far enough so he could crash his forehead against its face, feeling the skin tear and splatter all over him. Its jaw popped out of its head, finally releasing his arm. He kicked the mutilated body from his own, eyes studying the nasty-looking bite. The thing had torn right through his coat and undershirt, baring his skin to the frosty atmosphere.

Forcing his heart back down his throat, he climbed to his feet, clutching the injury with a grimace. He nearly collided with Dempsey as he skidded to a halt next to the doctor, his weapon poised and ready.

"I got it," Richtofen hissed, stumbling towards the projector room.

"Hey, what happened?" Tank demanded, turning the Nazi around so he could see the damage. His eyes widened at the splinter of bone that stuck out of his arm and the crimson that seeped through his clothing. "Holy shit, Doc!"

"I'm fine," he assured through clenched teeth, shaking the hand off his shoulder and continuing to his intended destination. Tank hovered behind him.

Ignoring the other man, the doctor shed his coat and rolled his undershirt up to his elbow so he could further assess the extent of his wound. It was definitely broken. The zombie had bitten right through his bone. He muttered under his breath, cursing himself for being so careless. With much difficulty, he opened up his medical kit and pulled out some sterile bandages.

Tank watched from the doorway, biting his lip.

"Ja, Dempsey?" The Nazi sighed, eying him once the bandages had been successfully wound around his arm. He broke eye contact and sought a piece of wood to use as a splint.

"Let me help," Tank insisted, rushing out of the room to find exactly what he needed. Moments later, he returned with a flat piece of wood from their burning pile. He knelt in front of the seated man, gently but firmly securing the wood to his arm in a crude splint.

Richtofen sat back, tensing in pain.

Tank's eyebrows furrowed in sympathy. He remained knelt in front of him, watching his face contort.

"I'd appreciate it if you vouldn't stare at me so much," Richtofen muttered. "It's disconcerting."

"Damn, Doc…" Tank trailed off. "You really let your guard down this time. It'll be a while before you can use that arm again."

"I'll manage."

"Why were you out there, anyway? You know that the zombies come from there…"

Richtofen was too distracted to take the time to glare at Tank for reminding him of his mistake.

"What can I do to help you?"

"I don't know."

"Well, at least let me stay here and make sure you don't pass out from the pain."

"…Fine, Dempsey."

The Marine sat back against the wall, rubbing a hand over his forehead. With a heavy sigh, he watched as Richtofen shivered. "Why didn't you join us? This wouldn't have happened, damn it!"

"I vould rather not intrude."

"Doc, you're part of the team. We won't ban you from sitting around the fire with us."

"I find zhat hard to believe."

"Stop this shit," Tank snapped. "All you have done is hide away up here, freezing yourself. Quit being so goddamn stupid."

Richtofen narrowed his poisonous green eyes at Tank. "I vill do vhatever I vant."

"That's it. Let's go. I'm getting you out of here."

"You cannot move me," Richtofen hissed back. "I vill stay up here und recover."

"Yeah, I'd love to see how you manage to recover with a body temperature of below freezing," Tank shot back, his words dripping sarcasm. "You are so fucking stubborn."

"I don't care. I refuse to follow you."

Tank jumped to his feet, stalking forward threateningly. "I won't take 'no' for an answer. Sorry." With a gentleness that betrayed his frustration, he guided Richtofen to his feet. He wrapped an arm around his waist, pushing at his back to keep him moving forward out the door. Together, they descended the stairs and slowly made their way between the theater seats to the Russian and Japanese man that sat, concerned, at the roaring fire.

Richtofen avoided their curious eyes and bit back his insults, resorting to glaring at the wall the entire way. Once he had gingerly been set resting against a heavy crate, his arm cradled against his chest, he flicked his eyes from one teammate to another.

"What the fuck, Richtofen?" Nikolai spoke, frowning at the speckles of blood showing even through the heavy bandaging.

"A damn crawler got him," Tank elaborated with a wave of his hand. "Fucking bit through his bone."

Takeo's own frown deepened. He stared at the bandages in thought.

Richtofen felt his eyelids become heavy due to the soothing warmth that radiated towards him after several moments of silence between them all. It almost helped him to forget the dull ache that afflicted him. He couldn't stop himself, and his eyes closed sleepily. He had no idea how long he slept, but when he awoke, the fire was considerably smaller but still burning brightly. Light snores accompanied the crackling of the wood in the fire, and he marveled at the simplicity of it all. Not once had he taken the time to realize just how comforting such small sounds and sights could be.

Tank was the only one not asleep. He was seated opposite Richtofen, and he poked at the fire to keep it alive. He was hunched over, his knees pulled to his chest. His blue eyes flickered in the firelight. Richtofen was enthralled, especially when those mysterious irises met his own.

Tank cracked a lopsided smile. "Feeling better?" he mouthed, a concerned crinkle in his forehead.

Richtofen shrugged one arm. He couldn't feel much of anything, really. He watched the other man stand and kneel down next to him.

"Doc…" he murmured, not wanting to wake the others, "…I'm sorry."

"Vhy?" Richtofen whispered back, baffled at the apology.

"It was… because of me that you were cooped up in there, right? Because of the way I acted towards you after… _that_?"

The doctor thought back to the pure hatred in the gaze that stared him down while he had undone the restraints keeping him in the chair. He had shuddered at the way it created such a hollow ache in his chest—a sinking feeling inside of him. He knew he had messed up. Never had he seen a man move so quickly when Tank left him alone in that room of torture. He lowered his eyes guiltily.

"I was angry. I wasn't thinking." Tank frowned. "The way you had acted towards me… I really thought you were going to kill me. I knew I had to fight for my very life. I wasn't ready to die. Not like that."

"I vasn't going to kill you," Richtofen spoke breathlessly, his eyes wide at the very idea. He knew that just a week ago, he would have cackled sadistically at the thought of Dempsey's blood pouring over him like a morbid shower. He bit the inside of his lip, embarrassed to admit, "I don't vant you to die…"

"How could things have changed just like that?" Tank's eyes searched his face for answers.

"I vas vrong," he gasped out. "I didn't know vhat had come over me. I vas controlled by somezhing ozherworldly. I have been for almost my entire life."

"Richtofen," Tank spoke seriously but in a low tone, "don't think for a second that I would wish that sort of fate on you. Nobody deserves that kind of torment. I'm glad that you've come to grips with yourself."

Richtofen nodded, turning his face away. But he was instantly guided back into place by a cautious, calloused hand. Green met blue again, with the fire reflected in both, dancing and flickering in and out of sight.

"Those eyes…" Tank chuckled quietly. "Now is not the time, Doc."

The doctor arched an inquisitive eyebrow. Perhaps it was the pain making him delusional. Encouraging the flirting, he took a deep breath and replied, "Now is _alvays_ zhe time."

Tank's smile grew, and the shadows across his face made him appear devilish. "I like the way you think."

"Ugh, get a damn room," Nikolai groaned from behind them, smacking his bottle soundly against the stage.

Tank winked at the flustered doctor, unfazed by the interruption. "Maybe later, then."


	10. Belonging

**Disclaimer: **_Call of Duty: Black Ops_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title: **_Patient Confidentiality._

**Chapter Title:**_ Belonging._

**Complete Story Summary: **Richtofen offers "therapy" to his teammates, and they are oblivious to his master scheme.

**Story Pairing(s): **Tank Dempsey/Edward Richtofen. Slight Nikolai Belinski/Edward Richtofen.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content: **Language and sweet, sweet male/male contact.

**Notes:** Final chapter, everyone. Thanks for the continued support and views. I appreciate it!

* * *

"Dempsey," Richtofen whispered against his shoulder, his eyes closed in bliss. His hand tightened in the fabric of his uniform shirt, desperate to keep the man pressed against him. His broken arm was between them, but he took no notice of it.

Tank embraced the Nazi firmly, his lips attached to the sensitive skin of his neck. He laved it with open-mouthed kisses, his warm breath fanning over the wetness, raising the small hairs on the sweaty flesh. He let out a shuddery exhale, content.

High-pitched moans and jumbled speech escaped the enamored doctor. These simple touches were doing wonders on him. Why had he waited so long to feel such sensations? His entire body was alive with pulses of pleasure that resulted from the scrape of teeth along his collarbone or a tongue that swept over his salty skin.

Tank was slightly amused at how inexperienced the man was, but he didn't dare laugh and upset him. He wouldn't give up this moment for any other. He parted from the crook of his neck, his confident smirk and eyes flashing with desire causing another shudder to wrack Richtofen's frame. "You seem to be enjoyin' yourself."

"Oh, _ja_," he moaned without abandon. He grinned wildly. "You might say zhat you von't touch me so you don't accidentally injure me further, but I can alvays convince you to do ozhervise."

Tank shook his head. "You're too much."

"Und you like it," he murmured back, his eyes wicked and grin wide.

"Damn right, I like it. But as nice as this has been, I think I need to get back to work," he glanced at the hammer, nails, and boards that had lay uselessly below a fractured window. When he tried to stand up, Richtofen hummed at him, pushing him onto his back, emanating lust from every pore. "C'mon, Doc…"

Richtofen thought back to the way Tank had touched him, setting his senses alight, and he copied what he had liked the most, hoping to achieve a similar effect on the Marine. His thin lips brushed teasingly along his neck, raising gooseflesh as he went.

"Richtofen," Tank breathed, his hips raising without his permission. He reluctantly laid his head back and allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

The Nazi curled his fingers in the short blond hair, flicking his tongue over the skin experimentally. He narrowed his eyes at the lips that let out a short groan, deciding he could grow accustomed to hearing that. He raked his teeth over the same path his tongue took, amazed to feel Tank buck his hips against his own.

"Teasing motherfucker." Tank grunted, aroused already.

Richtofen held his tongue and rutted his hips against Tank's, gauging his reaction. The widening of his eyes and sudden shortness of breath pleased him.

With another groan, Tank muttered, "I can't do this when you're injured. I get kind of rough in the sack."

"I know, und I _love_ it vhen I control you like zhis…"

"Fucking Nazi…"

Richtofen winked, his smile cruel and very reminiscent of the one that had adorned his face when bloodshed and gore were present. His laughter was high-pitched and unrestrained. He relished the way he had Tank in his power. Inwardly, he was hit with a wave of affection at the way Tank rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. Tank was definitely getting under his skin.

"This is so weird," Tank suddenly spoke up, laying a hand on the doctor's back. He drummed his fingers in an unheard beat as he gathered his thoughts. "I never in a million years would have thought I'd be doin' this with you."

"Are you having second zhoughts?" Richtofen pulled away a bit, a frown pulling at his lips.

"Nah," Tank dismissed instantly, "I'll take this over you glaring at me and insulting me all the time. I could get used to you molesting me when Nikolai and Tak' turn their backs. But damn, I can't get any work done with you around."

Richtofen's doubts vanished, and he perked up. He stroked a finger down Tank's cheek to his lips. Tracing them while staring into his eyes, he wetted his own with a swipe of his tongue, anxious.

Tank mirrored the action and neared the doctor's lips. He repeated, "Goddamn, I could get used to this."

Their lips met in a hungry clash, and Tank pressed his erection into Richtofen's hip, needy. Tongues penetrated the split between their lips, dominating. They fought each other back, three hands roaming over bodies. They devoured each other, drinking deeply, pleasure humming in their very cores. Their legs tangled together, and Richtofen took the initiative to buck his hips against Tank's once again.

Tank broke their kiss, groaning and panting. A blush rose on his cheeks, and he pulled his shirt away from his sticky skin, unpleasantly warm. "It's too hot," he complained.

"Mmm, ja…" Richtofen didn't seem to mind and thrust his hips as much as he dared.

With a smoldering look of passion, Tank finally broke. He grasped the hand that was buried in his hair and led it down between their bodies slowly. "That's it… You're takin' care of this…"

* * *

"Do I get a therapy session, too?" Nikolai inquired, interested in how satisfied and careless Tank appeared when they re-entered the dressing room. He lowered his cards and gave a jealous grunt.

"Nope, sorry, this is my own personal doctor now," Tank retorted, laying his claim on the Nazi. "I'm afraid you'll just have to tough this one out, Nikolai."

"Fuck," Nikolai groaned loudly, "I need a woman." His body desired things that his mind screamed at him for.

If Takeo had similar thoughts, he was very good at keeping it to himself—like with everything else about himself. His lips twitched into a faint smile. It could have been the way things were becoming progressively better—or it could have been the straight in his hand. Who was to tell?

Tank grinned at them, wondering what the future would bring. For once, his outlook wasn't so bleak and strangled. He was eager, especially when Richtofen worked late into the night configuring the teleporter and reading his old research notes, his face stern and deep in thought. He wanted to get the hell out of the wasteland just as much as the rest of them, but if the doctor could interrupt his work whenever he wished, Tank could as well, in his opinion. …He cut off a surprised gasp with his hungry lips.

They weren't a perfect couple. They didn't love each other or believe in "dates." But they provided outlets for frustrations and needs. Richtofen listened when Tank wished to express his thoughts, and Tank kept the voices from returning to his slowly healing mind. Therapy was a never-ending session that kept them busy with things other than what troubled them, even when it turned physical—and it did, quickly and often, much to Nikolai's reluctant jealousy.

Richtofen knew he could never begin to repay Tank for what he had done for him, but it didn't give him an excuse to forgo trying. Once they got out of this hellhole, he'd _really_ show him his gratitude.


End file.
